Murder at Barclay Meadow

by Wendy Sand Eckel

  Janice walked over and literally pushed us together, a flat hand on each of our lower backs. “Now the party is getting started,” she said. “How’s your drink, Doc? You ready for a refill?”

  “Yes, I believe I am.”

  “Vodka tonic, no lime?” Janice said.

  “Yes,” Phil said. “How do you remember these things?”

  “It’s my job,” Janice winked. “So, Phil, did you know Rose Red is living in Barclay Meadow? Just moved in. You should drop in sometime.” Janice looked back at me. “She’s always making bread. I think she could use some company.”

  “That’s a lovely home,” he said. “I’m just two miles closer to town. We’re practically neighbors.”

  “It used to be lovely,” I said. “I’m afraid it’s fallen into disrepair.”

  “But you’re there now.”

  “Focus on the now.” I sipped my wine. “I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.”

  “Rose Red isn’t usually this negative, are you?” Janice gave me a meaningful look. “That’s why she needed to come to a party.” She cocked her head, took Phil’s glass, and strode away.

  Phil stared at me like a lost puppy. I filled with dread. I wasn’t ready for this. Not with him or with anyone. I wanted to be home in bed in flannel pajamas and the remote. I drank my wine in small frequent sips as if it were a pacifier. This was my first Christmas without Ed. I was missing him more that ever. We loved Christmas parties and knew how to work a room like a couple of lobbyists. Now I was the yin without the yang. Hollowed out in the middle.

  “So…” I forced a smile. “Is it an occupational hazard to check out people’s teeth? I mean, I had some of the spanakopita. There was a lot of spinach.”

  “Your teeth are fine, Rose Red,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s not my name,” I said quickly.

  “You don’t want me to call you ‘Rose Red’?” He looked crestfallen.

  “I prefer Rosalie.” I finished my wine and looked around the room for more. I spotted a server walking toward us, scooped up a glass from her tray, and took a sip. The wine was dry and buttery. Janice really did know how to pick a chardonnay. “You have very white teeth,” I said.

  “Yes, I know.” He stared off. Crap. I hurt his feelings.

  “I guess I shouldn’t assume dentists want to talk about teeth.” I tried to get him to look at me. “That’s probably the last thing you want to talk about.” He scanned the room. Probably wondering when Janice would return with his cocktail. “Phil,” I said. “Were you ever married?”

  He finally made eye contact again. “My wife died three and a half years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” I placed a hand on his arm. “How?”

  “Heart attack.” His eyes brimmed with tears. “She had it in her sleep. I couldn’t save her.”

  “How tragic,” I said.

  He nodded. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a party by myself.” He sniffled and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

  “Neither can I,” I said. “Janice is right—we do have a lot in common.”

  “You’re a widow?”

  “No. But I’m going through a divorce.”

  He shook his head. “Not the same.”

  “Grief is grief, Phil.”

  “Your situation is much different.” He straightened his spine and rolled his shoulders back. “If Lori were alive, we would still be married. We were going on thirty years.” He lifted his chin. “I don’t believe in divorce.”

  Neither do I, I thought. I studied him—his sudden arrogant stance. That’s how I used to be. A flicker of judgment when I learned someone was divorced. I was like him—so certain it would never happen to me. I felt wretched. It was all I could do to not run out the door and go home.

  Phil cleared his throat. “I think I’ll go find my drink. Janice must have gotten lost in her own massive house.” I watched him go.

  An older gentleman in a tuxedo stepped into the center of the room and rang a delicate silver bell with a gloved hand. I followed my fellow party-goers to a set of heavy wooden doors, where a uniformed woman held a leather book with a seating chart. She asked for my name and pointed to my seat.

  The table glowed from two large silver candelabras, casting the room in a soft gauzy light. A white linen tablecloth was topped with creamy dishes rimmed with gold. Small crystal vases filled with white roses were nestled among sprigs of pine and holly.

  “Oh, Janice,” I said. “It’s so beautiful. I feel like I’m in Downton Abbey.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now, go sit down and stay out of trouble.”

  Nick was in the seat next to mine, talking with the woman on his other side. Just as Janice had promised, I was seated to the right of Trevor, her husband, the seat of honor. A gold-embossed card listed the menu for the evening and the wine to accompany each course. A server had already begun to fill champagne flutes. Trevor pulled out my chair so that I could sit.

  As I unfolded my linen napkin, Janice tapped a teaspoon against her champagne glass and stood. “Okay, everybody. Welcome! I want to make a toast to our guest of honor this evening.” Her eyes zeroed in on me.

  No, I mouthed.

  “Some of you may not know that our newest neighbor is actually an old friend of mine. Rosalie has been spending summers in Cardigan since we were little girls and I’m thrilled to have her back. So if you could all join me in welcoming our newest friend and neighbor, Rosalie Hart.”

  Everyone raised their glasses. Janice knew exactly what she was doing. It was protocol for me to return the toast. So that’s how it would be. Tit for tat. When the cheers and clanking died away, I hesitated. All eyes were on me. I pushed my chair back and stood. “Thank you, Janice, for the lovely toast and for including me in your elegant dinner. I look forward to getting to know all of you better and hope there are many future friends at this table.” Janice watched me carefully. “I must say, for a small town, there is a lot to learn and a lot more excitement than I had ever imagined.” I hesitated. What was I saying? Curse you Janice. I raised my glass. “Here’s to Janice, her gracious hospitality, stunning home and her … unmatched wit.”

  I sat down quickly and pressed my napkin over my lap. The professor clinked his glass on mine. I looked over at him. His face was close. “Hello, again.” His cologne was a delicious mix of musk, vanilla, and a hint of citrus.

  “Hi.” I downed my champagne.

  I spent the first three dinner courses talking with Trevor. His family had lived on the Eastern Shore for generations and he delighted in telling me lots of little-known history of the area. He talked about his love of hunting and the outdoors and described in detail how he had begun to build his very own skipjack, the classic Chesapeake Bay boat used for oyster dredging. The woman to his left joined the conversation and knew a lot about the classic boats. With nothing to add to the conversation, I looked down at my crabcake.

  “I thought you would never stop talking to them,” Nick said.

  “They lost me at ‘skipjack.’”

  “Good.” He winked. “I didn’t realize you and Janice were such good friends.”

  “Like she said…” I looked up at him. “We go way back.”

  “And is the man you were talking with earlier your date?”

  “No.” I held my wineglass by the stem and aligned it with my spoon. “Janice is playing matchmaker. But this one was pretty much a disaster.” I shoved my hands in my lap. “That chemistry you’re studying? Dr. Phil and I came up short.”

  “Dr. Phil?” His face danced with delight.

  “Oops.” I placed my fingers over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’ve been thinking it. I just didn’t mean to say it aloud.”

  He rested his arm on the back of my chair. “I love it.” He signaled to the waiter standing in the doorway. He approached and leaned an ear toward Nick. “Bring me a vodka,” Nick said. “Grey Goose with a lime. Not too much ice.” The man nodded and walked away. Although
most of the crabcake sat uneaten on his place, a trio of empty glasses was before him—cocktail, wine, champagne. I looked up into those Hershey’s Kisses eyes. They were beginning to droop. Maybe this was an opportunity. Get him to talk while he was well lubricated.

  “Nick, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the study. How’s it going?”

  “Very well.” He smiled. His arm was still on my chair. “Now that the grant is in place, my students are administering the questionnaires.”

  “Did you ever fill that internship?”

  He frowned. “Why do you keep asking me about that?”

  “I was interested in it, remember?”

  “You’re too late.”

  “You found someone?”

  “President Carmichael found me a graduate student to run the statistics. No need for an intern.”

  “Really? What department is she in?”

  “He is a math major.” Nick sipped his water. “It will be better this way for a lot of reasons.”

  “What exactly are you asking in the questionnaires?”

  “The first segment is designed to analyze visual triggers to sexual desire.” He played with a strand of my hair. “We show our subjects a variety of photos and gauge their heart rates.”

  “To see if we’re like animals, right?” I said. “The female bird picks the male with the most impressive display?”

  “Ah—that she does. She wants the best genes for her babies.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But too much plumage can make for a lousy husband.”

  He laughed heartily. “You’re funny. Do you realize that?”

  I sipped my wine. “I have my moments.”

  Our dinner plates were removed and replaced with dessert wine in small crystal glasses and a round of glazed crème brûlée.

  “I’m also interested in the differences in sexual triggers according to age and time of life.” His arm was still behind my chair. My scalp tingled as he continued to fondle my hair.

  “I believe our triggers change over time,” he continued. “Now that I’m no longer looking for the best mother for my children, I’m attracted to other things besides the traditional hip-to-waist ratio.” He gave my body a once-over. “Although a lovely figure never goes unnoticed.”

  “Oh.…” My face warmed.

  He leaned in and sniffed the lock of hair between his fingers. “Scent is an important trigger, too. Don’t you think?”

  I flattened my back against the chair. He was so close, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. The waiter returned with a tumbler of vodka.

  “And let’s not forget taste,” he continued. “That’s an important one, too, especially for men.”

  My mouth fell open.

  Nick dipped a spoon into the crème brûlée and slid it into his mouth. I watched as he slowly removed it, seemingly savoring every flavor. He shut his eyes. “Mmm,” he said.

  I cleared my throat. “You were saying there are age differences in desire?”

  He set his spoon on the tablecloth, looked over at me, and smiled. “Yes. But not just after child-bearing years. For instance, a girl who isn’t in the market for a husband yet will be attracted to a different sort of boy. Doesn’t every girl have to have at least one ‘bad boy’ in her life?”

  “Of course,” I said. “The guy in the leather jacket.”

  “They don’t always wear leather jackets,” he said.

  “True. Some don’t wear jackets at all.” I eyed his silk shirt. “But mine wore a denim jacket and smoked unfiltered Camels. He had long, lovely hair and sang Cat Stevens songs to me.”

  “There you go. Funny again.” He picked up his glass and took a long swig of vodka.

  “Time for carols around the piano.” Janice stood before us. “Rose Red? Dr. Nick? You think you can break it up long enough to sing?”

  “Of course.” I scooted my chair back.

  Nick reached for my hand. “I have thoroughly enjoyed our conversation, Rosalie.”

  “Yes.” I stood and pulled my hand from his. “I’ve enjoyed it, as well. I can’t believe dinner is over so soon.”

  I followed Janice to the piano. “You go from one doc to the other,” she hissed.

  “They couldn’t be any more different from one another.” I tried to keep up in my heels. “Opposite ends of the man spectrum, if there is such a thing.”

  She stopped and turned around. I almost ran into her. “Dr. Nick is a womanizer,” she said. “He has a reputation.”

  “What kind of reputation?” I said. “Married women? Younger women?” I hesitated. “Students?”

  “All of the above.”

  “Really? Students?”

  “Oh, yeah. But the college keeps it quiet. They’re trying to rein him in.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  She started walking again. I tried to hide my giddiness at the information she had just disclosed. She stopped abruptly and turned to face me again. “You know your problem, Rose Red?”

  “Which one? I have many.”

  “You have to stop reacting to everything. You’re not a victim, you know? You’ve got to be proactive.” I looked up at her. “If you’re only reacting to things, you give away your power. Get it?”

  “Janice, I’m really trying. It’s just a rough time of year.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

  After the first round of “Deck the Halls” I headed for the coat closet. I wondered if Janice would consider this being proactive. I looked back at the party. Dr. Phil was arm in arm with another woman. Fa la la la la … His teeth really were perfect.

  I shut the door and headed to my car, concentrating hard on not twisting my ankle in the gravel.

  “Oh.” I stopped abruptly. Nick was leaning against my car, his ankles crossed, his hands in the pockets of his dark wool overcoat.

  “That’s my car.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Of course you do.” My breath crystalized in a puffy silver cloud. “There is no anonymity in Cardigan, Maryland.”

  “There’s nothing anonymous about this car.” He patted the door. “Something tells me a woman who drives a car the color of lipstick has another side. A side I think I would like.”

  My heart thudded in my chest. Why wouldn’t he move? What was he doing? “Well…” I faked a yawn. “I’m really tired.” I fished my keys out of my clutch.

  “What’s the rush?” Before I could speak, Nick slipped his hands into my coat, held my hips, and pulled me to him. His lips, cool from the December air, were on mine.

  I pushed him away. “What are you doing?”

  “What I’ve been thinking about doing all night.”

  I placed my hand on my forehead. “You were?”

  He stepped closer. “You should button your coat. You’ll catch a chill.” His fingertips brushed against the wool as he slowly buttoned my coat. My nerve endings, on red alert, acknowledged every point of contact.

  “There,” he said. “All buttoned up. You okay to drive?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Are you?”

  He cocked his head. His eyes glistened in the dim light of Janice’s portico. “Shall I follow just to be sure?”

  “No. I’m fine. Really.” I waited for him to move.

  “You’re never going to take my class, are you?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Why did you say that?”

  “I don’t think you ever intended to. I think you just wanted to meet me.”

  “No.” I stepped back. My heels crunched the gravel. “I was interested.”

  “You,” he chuckled, “are a lousy liar.”

  A small chime from my phone sounded in my purse, signaling my connection to the rest of the world. He stepped out of the way.

  As I climbed into my car, he leaned in and nuzzled my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “You have secrets,” he whispered. He backed away and I grabbed the door. “Till next time, ma chérie,” he called. My hands trembled a
s I fumbled with my keys. At last the engine roared awake. I looked out at Nick. He was watching me, a thin, sly smile on his lips.

  As I drove the short distance home, I tried to slow my heart rate. Maybe Janice was right. I’ve got to get some control. What if he had climbed in the car? What if he had followed me? I clicked on the blinker. As I started to turn onto the lane, a pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. My nerves went into lockdown. No one traveled this road unless they had a good reason, especially this late at night. Nick? Oh my gosh, I lived alone. He could follow me into the house. He said I had secrets. He knows I know about Megan. I parked under a cypress tree and killed the lights. I waited in the moonless night. An owl shrieked and dipped low over the roof of my car. I instinctively hunched my shoulders. I waited, but the lights never reappeared.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Nick Angeles

  It was lovely to see you last night. Let me know the next time you need help buttoning your coat.

  Glenn B

  Birdie’s shoe store is presenting me with a wealth of information. It seems our good sheriff and the college president are very well connected.

  Tony Ricci

  You’re supposed to be hooking up with the bingo ladies. Not hanging out in a shoe store.

  Rosalie Hart

  I’m here. Keep talking. Remember I saw Carmichael and Wilgus having lunch one day and then they were talking at the party.

  Tony Ricci

  So why would the Pres and the cop be so chummy?

  Glenn B

  I believe the college is behind the sheriff’s willingness to close the case so quickly. They want to keep their safe, idyllic image and they want their star professor’s reputation to remain intact. Just think, if word leaked out that he was sleeping with students or, even worse, murdered one, the scandal could ruin the college. Especially if the president knew and covered it up.

  Rosalie Hart

  If Nick did it once, he could do it again. And how would that look? Not only did they cover something up, they allowed him to kill again.